


Whiskey Wonders

by convolutedConcussion



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe- Um?, F/M, Nedley POV, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-17
Updated: 2016-11-17
Packaged: 2018-08-31 15:05:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8582989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/convolutedConcussion/pseuds/convolutedConcussion
Summary: anon asked:  AU where Dolls gets drunk and rambles to Nedley about Wyn and Nedley's just like "Sounds like you got a crush boy"





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hoo-boy, thanks @ the anon who sent me that ask. This is. Kind of weird, kind of dumb, does not feature any actual WynDolls, I just... had to...

What decades on the force couldn’t teach Randy about human nature twenty-four years as a parent _did_.  He knows what a man looks like when he’s got something to say, he knows what a man looks like when he just needs to _break something_ , what desperation and love and lust look like.  When the good Deputy Marshal comes to him that night with a bottle of whiskey, he’s got the look of a man who doesn’t _know_ what he wants.  Warily, he watches Dolls pour them both generous mugs and sit across from him.

“What is it,” he asks with half a smile, “About you and your deputy that makes you think you can just bring your liquor into my station?”

“Who do you think I confiscated this from?” he responds in kind, eyes solidly on his drink.

“Got somethin’ on your mind?”

This makes him look up.  “No offense, but nothing I’m gonna talk to you about.”

That’s fair.  The whiskey isn’t particularly _good_ —no one could ever accuse Wynonna Earp of having particularly discerning tastes, though—but it gets the job done, and Randy isn’t exactly picky.  Dolls tosses his back quickly, grimacing either at the taste or the burn, and he wonders how accurate the assertion that the guy doesn’t drink is.  They work through the bottle in silence, which is fine by him.

Halfway through the bottle he keeps in his desk, Dolls starts talking.

It’s nothing at first, he talks about his time as a Marine—not with any detail, the drink hasn’t made him _stupid_ , it seems.  Talks about his family—his sisters, his mom and dad back home.  How his parents can’t _quite_ figure out Skype and he always gets a screen full of faces with the tops cut off.  He asks questions—how long has Randy been a cop?  Did he always live in Purgatory?  Laughingly, he asks if he ever wished he was a cop in an actual sleepy little town.  He slouches in his chair, looking bizarrely comfortable as he laughs while Randy tells him about the rowdy group of seven- and eight-year-olds who tried to set all the animals at the pound free because they “thought they’d be happier in the wild” when he was just a young deputy still wet behind the ears.

He sobers real quick when he says, “Ah, I guess Wynonna was always trouble, one way or another.”

“You don’ give her enough credit,” he frowns.  “She’s got a good—she’s a good person.”  Randy falls quiet, in part because maybe he’s right.  It’s not like he hasn’t been considering that.  Dolls must take his silence to mean something else because he starts up and doesn’t _stop_ for a long time—goes on in a way that’s almost embarrassing about this girl, that she’s saved him and saved her sister and saved this town.  That her moral compass doesn’t point due north, but that she’s earnestly doing what she thinks she has to.  There’s still a lot that Randy doesn’t know about what’s going on and, honestly, what he _does_ know doesn’t really make him want to ask further, but he _knows_ that girl’s in the thick of it and he _hasn’t_ been fair.  He doesn’t need to be convinced—Dolls keeps going like he does.

When he stops, having either run out of things to say or breath to say it, Randy doesn’t say _I know_ or _I’m sorry_ or any of the number of things that, really, he ought to, and instead muses, “Son, it sounds like you’ve got a crush.”

It’s the way Dolls hisses, “Shit,” long and low and distant into his mug that makes him think he’s probably right.  He lets it rest there because he doesn’t have any business venturing further.  After a while, he hears, “Sorry I called you a hillbilly dick who wouldn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground.”

“You didn’t…” he trails off when he sees Dolls look innocently at the ceiling.

Alright, then.

They’ve made it through the last of his stash when Randy sees a flash of movement past his open door.  Frowning—and he swears if it’s _any_ of his deputies making out behind the front desk again, they’re _all_ fired—he stands and makes his way around his desk, but he needn’t have bothered because none other than Wynonna Earp herself backtracks and freezes in the doorway.  Comically confused, her eyes flick back and forth between the sheriff and the marshal before Dolls lets out a snicker and her brow knits in a scowl.

“What’s this?” she asks.

“Earp…” Dolls laughs behind him.

Randy watches her squint at the empty bottles on the floor.  “Did you get him _drunk?_   With _my_ booze?” she demands, stalking past him to fix Dolls with one _hell_ of a hypocritical look and kick his boot.  “What the fuck, dude?”

“ _He_ got _me_ drunk,” he says belatedly.

He realizes, however distantly, that in that moment he might as well be talking to _himself_.  They’re having what could only be some kind of telepathic conversation, him leaning lopsidedly in his chair and grinning up at her like she hung the damn _moon_ and her frowning like you would at a puppy who’s chewed up your shoes.  At some point, they must reach some kind of conclusion because her eyes lift in an exaggerated roll as she sighs.  She whirls on Randy and jabs a finger at him, “I am _so_ gonna get you back for this.  I _hate_ playing Sober Sister.”  To Dolls, she says a little less murderously, “C’mon, I’ll take you home.”

“You don’t n—”

“Didn’t really require speaking,” she interrupts coolly.  Dolls stumbles to her feet and, shockingly shamefacedly, follows her out.  On their way, he can hear her tell the guy with a strange softness, “I should leave you in the drunk tank.”

**Author's Note:**

> Also hey check out my [Tumblr](http://johnisntevendead.tumblr.com) where like months later I'm still happy to cry about these nerds!


End file.
